


The Five Times Mike Called and The One Time Ginny Picked Up

by MrsCox



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: And Bawson, And Beaches, And Fluff and More Fluff and Even More Fluff, F/M, I'm Sort Of Obsessed With Voicemails, So Now There's Both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCox/pseuds/MrsCox
Summary: Five Voicemails can say a lot, and for Mike and Ginny, that couldn't be more true. Bawson oneshot





	

_Hey Baker. It's Lawson, thought I'd let you know they changed the number on the back on my Rookie card. No point sitting around thinking about the game, we lost, sucks. The guys are going out, and who knows, between you, me, and Blip we'll be able to keep the idiots at bay. Just, try not to incite another riot, alright?_ Beep.

In the sixteen years he'd been in the game, Mike had never grown completely comfortable in front of the camera. Sure, he could fake it, just like his high pain threshold and small talk the morning after. But, there was some moments, where his smile looked as forced as it felt, that it was clear how much he'd rather be anywhere else.

This was one of those days.

"Guys," Mike cried, throwing his hands up, eyes narrowing as the cameras flashed, "her first game was rough but she's more than proved she can handle the mound."

"And tonight's game against the Giants?"

Dragging a thumb along his chin, he glowered in the general direction of the question. "You want to ask me about the swings I missed? Or the catches that slipped through Sanders mitt? Baker's not a team all on her own, so like I've said time and time again, I'm done talking about her. You want to ask me about the weather, fine. You want to talk about how I got my ass looking so damn fine in my uniform, I'm all for it. But I'm telling you know, anyone else asks me about Baker and we're done here."

"But Mike…"

He leaned forward. "We're done here."

He walked into the bar an hour later, shooting Blip a dark look when he came up to him with a beer. "Don't say a thing."

"I didn't," Blip replied, smiling in that annoyingly smug way of his. "Just letting you know, Ginny's here, if you're planning on storming off anytime soon."

"Shut up," Mike brushed past him and over to the table, nodding at each of his teammates in turn before settling into the last empty seat.

Beside Ginny.

Perfect.

She slid forward in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other, before tapping the neck of her bottle against his. "You got my message?" He asked, taking a quick swig of his drink.

"I'm here, aren't I?" She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. "And just because I had your rookie card doesn't mean I, like, kept it."

He felt the corners of his mouth tick up into a smile before he had the chance to stop himself. "Right," he fluttered his eyelashes, " _Oh, Mike Lawson, I was just your biggest fan."_

She frowned at him, flicking at her nose as she twisted towards him. "I was so _not_ your biggest fan."

"Whatever you say, Baker," he grinned, feeling the coil in his stomach unfurl just a little as the time went by. If he'd spent the last sixteen years perfecting the man the rest of the world wanted to see, athletic and good-looking and more charming than he had the right to be, Ginny was quickly coming to overtake him.

She was perfect, laughing in all the right places, mocking their teammates like she had every right to be there, like she was just another one of the guys, not a girl changing the game they'd devoted their lives to.

And when it was time for them to go, Mike couldn't help the surge of pride that went through him as she walked with them, her beam genuine and their team finally feeling _complete_ for the first time in ages.

"Lawson," he turned, his eyebrows knitting together as he found himself facing Ginny Baker, her smirk playful as she rested against a brick wall.

"Couldn't find a cab?"

"I'm around the block, figured I would just walk."

"Well then come on," he jerked his chin forward, shoving his hands into his pocket. "Skipper would have my balls if I let you walk home by yourself and someone poached you."

Pushing away from the wall, she quirked an eyebrow up at him. "I'm not some kid, Old Man, I can take care of myself."

"Maybe," he shrugged, "still, you've spent the last couple of weeks screwing with my peace of mind, it's the least you can do." Her lips pursed into a skeptical pout, and he rolled his eyes. "Come on, Baker, I'm your captain and it wasn't a request."

"Not for long," she sang as she followed after him, the picture of curious innocence when he turned back to stare at her.

"You really coming for my job?"

"Captain Ginny Baker," she moved forward, walking backwards with a grace that seemed unfair considering how his knees creaked. "I don't know, it's got a nice ring to it." Tossing her hair over her shoulder, her smirk grew. "A certain _je ne sais quoi_."

"Bless you."

She giggled, cutting herself off with a surprised jerk. "Um," she cleared her throat, "this is me, so now that I'm all safe and tucked away, you can leave." He glanced around, surprised to find that they were already in the lobby of her hotel. He pursed his lips, and she sighed. "Or you can follow me to my door, like a stalker." She started walking with a huff, only stopping long enough to flutter her fingers at his back once they got to her room.

"You know," Mike caught the door before it had the chance to shut behind her, "it's okay to be girly," he meet her careful gaze with a curious one of her own. "I mean, I'm pretty sure it's obvious that you're you know, not a man, if that particular shade of lipstick and those things on your chest are any indication."

"I think this constitutes sexual harassment."

"I'll let you kick me in the crotch later," she snorted, and he felt something warm leak into his veins. "Look, I get it, first woman in the MLB, God forbid you actually act like it. But if anyone has anything to say about you, Blip and Evelyn, the team, _me_ , we'll all shut it down. So, you can be pretty or whatever, and giggle like a damned school girl if you want."

She folded her arms, eyes glistening with something he couldn't quite put a name to. "Thanks," she finally replied, "and thanks for what you did at the press conference."

He hummed. "Just stay away from my job, Baker, and we'll call it square."

Ginny patted his chest, finding yet another moment to surprise him. "We'll see, Lawson."

He stayed there after she left, staring down at the place she stood for a few moments and trying not to commit the feel of her hand against his body to memory. He couldn't tell you why.

* * *

_Baker, you lose my number or something? Because the only excuse you have for screening my damn calls is that you think I'm trying to sell you a time share. And I promise you that other than that one time in Ibiza, even I wouldn't be stupid enough to talk to those guys. Oh, which reminds me, you ever want to spend a weekend in Ibiza, let me know. But, I digress. I'm coming over, make sure you have some pants on._ Beep.

"So what," he wriggled past the small space between Ginny and the doorframe, letting himself into her apartment and making himself comfortable on the couch, "you're just gonna ignore me the rest of your career?"

"I really only have to outlast you," she sniffed, standing over by the door, looking just as caged as she so obviously felt. "I waited five years to get called up, I think I can take another year or two."

Mike's gaze dipped below her waist. "I see you went in the opposite direction of my pants advice." She glanced down, shaking her head as she picked at the hem of the boxers. "I think I've got a pair like that."

"What do you want, Mike?"

Sighing, he scrubbed his hand over his face. "I want to have this out. I'm tired of you avoiding me around the clubhouse. I'm tired of all my calls going to voicemail. And, God help me, I miss talking to you."

"Shouldn't you have Amelia for that?"

And there it was. The elephant in the room that came in the form of the hundred and ten pound blonde he'd somehow manage to plant right between them.

"Do you want me to end it?" She drew back, too surprised to hide the emotion playing across her face.

"Would you?"

He thought of Amelia, of her body besides his underneath his sheets, the feel of her skin against his, and then nodded. Because it was Ginny and she was searching for something on his face that he was desperate to give her.

"Say the word and I'll call Amelia right now."

She tugged at the end of her ponytail, catching her lip between her teeth and chewing. "No," she decided. "I don't care about who you sleep with," he ignored the knot of disappointment curling in his stomach, "I just don't get why you didn't tell me."

"When it first started, it wasn't serious."

"And now it is? Serious?"

His grimaced, uncertain of how to answer that question. Amelia had made it clear that Ginny came first, and even though he'd never say it, he agreed. They were the only support system that she had, and that bonded them in a way he hadn't expected.

And the sex was incredible.

But, no. They weren't serious. They had the potential to be, but if Amelia was standing between Mike and Ginny, then this weird little triangle he'd found himself in had multiple roadblocks.

"It's a distraction," he shrugged. "Or it was, and now…now we're just having fun."

Ginny stepped back, her face twisting with barely restrained disgust. "I don't need details, okay. And you still haven't told me why you kept it from me. I thought we were more than teammates." She stilled, torn between her need for control and the tiny part of her that wouldn't completely mind being vulnerable around him. "I thought we were friends, and friends don't keep things from one another."

"Then ask me anything," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin up in his palm. "And if it's PG enough, I might actually answer."

She sat beside him, still guarded, still hurt, but she was there and she was giving him a slight smile, so maybe everything would be alright. "I'm going to need at least some PG-13."

"Trying to go for the raunchy stuff, huh?" He slid off his jacket, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and smirking. "We'll see how I feel after a beer."

"Kitchen's over there," Ginny pointed over to the fridge, "bring me one back."

Standing, Mike bit back a groan as he dug his fingers into his back. "Anyone ever tell you you're kind of bossy?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over all the beer I'm not drinking."

He huffed out a laugh. And he was still laughing when he walked out hours later, tired and happy with the sun streaming into his eyes.

* * *

_I get it, Baker. Girls take forever to pack or whatever. Normally I wouldn't give two shits about what you shove into your damn suitcase, but I distinctly remember you swearing that you would be here on time, what with you having my passport and all. If you make us miss our flight, I don't know…No, Blip, damn it man, don't leave. I don't care what Evelyn said. No, don't tell her I said that, she'll make me ride with the luggage…Fuck, Baker, just get here!_ Beep.

Mike Lawson didn't struggle. When he saw what he wanted, he went for it with everything he had, and usually that everything was enough. And once he had it, he didn't let go. He'd dedicated time, money, and most of his sanity to becoming the best in his sport, and sixteen years later, he was planning on the next season, and, if his body didn't all but self-destruct, the season after that.

It was why it hurt so much when his marriage imploded. Because he'd loved Rachel, maybe not as much as the game, but there were plenty of times when it'd come close. It was why he didn't give up on her until it was clear that there was no going back, that he'd pushed their relationship towards irreparable.

Then again, when he thought about it now, it didn't ache nearly as much as it should.

Hence, the struggling.

When Evelyn and Blip had invited Ginny to come along on their family vacation, Mike decided to join them. He had nothing to do in San Diego thanks to the off season, and he'd be damned before he hung out with Miller. For fun. _Alone_.

So, he packed up his shit, and waited for Ginny to arrive at the airport. And it wasn't until he glanced up from the magazine he'd pilfered from Evelyn's stash that he realized that he might have made a mistake. Because he was used to Ginny in her uniform, Ginny in work-out clothes, even Ginny all decked out and gorgeous.

But he'd never had time to prepare for Ginny in a frilly crop top and a pair of denim shorts, the light glinting off the gold of her sandals. She was running, her hair tucked underneath a Padres cap and a pair of sunglasses covering half of her face, some strange attempt at anonymity, but even if she wasn't the most famous woman in the world, people still stared. Because she was beautiful, in that unassuming way that made it hard for him to swallow.

"Sorry, sorry," she panted, tugging her suitcase up behind her and setting her hands on her waist. It was…distracting, watching her chest rise and fall as she tried to catch her breath. "Although if you just kept your own stuff, there wouldn't have been a problem."

"It's my third passport," he stood, "and I doubt they're too happy whenever they see me stroll in. Usually Blip holds onto it for me, but they've got the kids so…" She looked up at him, eyes warm with exasperated amusement, and he lost his train of thought. He was the one who told Ginny to be as girly as she damn well pleased, but he wasn't expecting the thickness of her lashes, and the pucker of her red, red lips.

"Mike?" She asked. "You gonna keep staring at me, or are we gonna get on the plane?"

"Right," he jumped, confused by what just happened, the time he'd just lost in her gaze.

She laughed, slinging her bag back into place on her shoulders and reaching for her suitcase. "Hopefully your dementia can hold out until after we get back, Old Man."

"Have I ever told you how much I love that," he murmured, "because I don't, if you were wondering."

"I wasn't." She came to a stop in front of the ticket checker. "Hi, this the flight to Cancun?"

Mike could handle sitting beside her on the plane, even as she slumped against his shoulder and fell asleep, whisper-soft snores escaping through her parted lips. And he was fine after they landed, even when she yawned, stretching out into his space, overloading his senses with everything Ginny. The smell of her, vanilla and citrus, the feel of her, smooth skin and gentle curves, the sight of her, sleepy and open and glowing with contentment. And not to be outdone by himself, he was even okay when she announced to the group that she would be showering the second they got to the resort, to "wash the grossness of the flight off of her."

It wasn't until the next day on the beach that Mike realized how much trouble he was in.

"Blip," Mike exhaled, "how do you do this?" They'd spent hours in the water with the twins, each boy demanding more attention than either man had to offer. "There's more of them than there is of you," one of the boys hopped onto his back and he fell forward, swallowing a mouthful of salt water.

"You think I haven't noticed," Blip laughed, beginning the trek out onto the sand. "Look, all you need is lots of patience, and the knowledge that you can't ever do anything you want again. Ever."

"Makes sense," the boys ran over to their beach towels, their giggles carrying on the wind. "You got them?"

Blip shook his head, swallowing back a chuckle. "Weak, man," Mike collapsed to the sand, pushing his sunglasses down with a frown. "Yeah, you just rest up, it's fine, I don't need any help at all."

"Excellent," Mike waved him away, relishing in the warmth around him and the lap of the water on the sand. "I'll be over here if you need me. But, like, really try not to."

Blip didn't answer, and even if he had, Mike was a few heartbeats away from a nap. "Yo, Lawson!"

"Damn it," he muttered, propping himself back up and cracking an eye open. "Oh, God damn it." Ginny grinned, waving at him from over by the water before jogging over to him. He doubted she'd be so happy to see him if she knew how his heart stuttered at the image she presented.

He could see the headline now, _Ginny Baker, A Home-Run In White_. She twisted her wet curls into a bun, hotter than she had the right to be in a white bikini. _Ginny Baker Pitches A Perfect Day_. Water snaked down her skin, dripping from her stomach, disappearing underneath the hem of her bikini bottoms. _Three Strikes You're Out: Mike Lawson Embarrasses Himself With Ginny Baker._

"You're totally gonna burn," she stopped in front of him, blocking his light.

"I don't burn."

"So all the facial hair is functional." She cocked a hip out, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just trying to figure out why you keep it around."

"Where's Evelyn?" He asked, pushing back away from her and onto his feet.

"She and Blip took the boys for ice cream," she reached forward and slipped the sunglasses from the tip of his nose, "I thought we could go find some actual food."

"I'm not hungry."

She tapped the arm of his glasses against her bottom lip. "Mike Lawson not hungry? Either the apocalypse is coming, or you're too embarrassed to eat in your swim suit, which you totally shouldn't be." Sliding the glasses on, her mouth ticked down into a contemplative frown. "You look good. Now come on, I'm starving and I know you are too."

And that's how he found himself following Ginny to some Mexican restaurant, his shirt in one hand and her sarong in the other. And he tried, he really tried, to be normal. He watched her eat her nachos, and when he couldn't even take a bite of his burrito, she snatched it from his plate and nudged his leg underneath the table.

"So you really weren't hungry?" She asked, hot sauce dribbling down her chin. "You feeling alright?"

"Fine," he replied distractedly, his gaze ripping from her over to the man walking over to their table. "You've got an admirer."

She peeked over her shoulder, the burrito dropping from her grasp as she sat up straighter. She dragged her hair tie from her hair, shaking out her hair in a way that would have made him laugh if each hair toss didn't hit him like a bullet.

"How do I look?" She asked, giving her hair one last fluff.

Mike dragged his finger along the rim of his glass. "I didn't think you'd be interested. You never talk to anyone back home." She still had that hot sauce on her chin, and he didn't think twice about reaching over and swiping at it. She paused at the contact, but it had no where near the affect on her as it had on him.

"Back at home, I'm Ginny Baker, ball player. Here," she glanced back over her shoulder, "I'm just a girl who feels like dancing." And just like that, she stood and walked away from the table, offering her admirer, an oiled, muscled, stupidly attractive target for Mike's irrational fury, a hand. They stepped onto the dance floor, looking all the world like the young, striking pair they were.

And, as Mike sat there and gripped the table, he watched as Ginny threw her head back and laughed, sidling in closer to her dance partner and falling into the steps that everyone on the floor seemed to know. Front step, back step, hip sway and twirl.

"What are you doing?" Blip bumped his fist against Mike's arm, spinning Ginny's seat and tumbling into it. Mike's stare dropped down to his arms, raised and shifting woodenly from side to side. He let them fall, his face burning.

"Indigestion."

They shared a quick look, but soon their attention moved back over to where Ginny danced, her arms wound around tall, dark, and handsome's neck and her body pressed to his. She tilted her chin, and that was all the invitation he needed to slant his mouth against hers. And just like that, Mike was tired of this restaurant, tired of this vacation, tired of the effect Ginny Baker had on his life.

Blip whistled, nodding approvingly as Ginny pressed up onto her toes, better leverage. "Our girl's going in," he exclaimed, "Evelyn's gonna be so pissed she missed this."

Mike couldn't hear, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel his blood boil as Ginny giggled, smacking away the hand on her ass and leaning forward to whisper something in his ear.

Shoving away from the table, Mike flicked a twenty onto the table. "I need a drink." Mike Lawson wasn't the type of man that struggled, but as he walked out of the room, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, he realized that maybe this was just the beginning.

* * *

_Rookie! You know what I like. I like whiskey. No, I love whiskey. I would buy a hotel room and go to town on some if I could, but that would burn and I don't like things that burn down there. At least, not unless it's the good way. Anyway, get that perfect ass down here and we can…hey, no wait…Hey, whoever this is, your friend here is too drunk to drive home. I'd put him in a cab, but he's got no cash, so can you come pick him up? It's Johnny's on the corner of fifth and Market._ Beep.

"Baker!" Mike cried, throwing a hand out as she walked into the bar. Ginny ducked her head, adjusting the bill of her cap before waving the bartender over.

"You here for him?" The bartender asked, jerking his thumb over to where Mike was drooping forward, resting his forehead on his arms.

"How much damage did he do?"

"Two hundred bucks," he snatched a towel up and wiped at a damp cup. "By far my best customer."

Ginny rolled her eyes, reaching for her wallet and pulling out a few bills. "I think this'll cover it," he plucked the money from her grip, rifling through it quickly before looking back up with a grin. "Cool," she smacked her hands down on the counter, "have a good night."

"It's already been good," he winked, his gaze dipping over to her mouth before he turned back to his work, humming underneath his breath. And on any other day, Ginny might have enjoyed the attention, but for right now, her attention was needed elsewhere.

Giving his shoulder a sharp poke, she swallowed back a laugh as he moaned. "Lawson," she murmured, careful not to draw too much attention. The fact that neither of them had yet to be recognized was a gift she wouldn't be taking for granted. "Lawson," she tried again, bumping her knee against his. "It's time to go beddy-bye."

He picked his head up, his movements sluggish and lazy. "Baker," he frowned, "when did you get here?"

"About ten minutes after you called me," she slid in close, draping his arm over her shoulder as casually as she could. "We're only a block from my place so we're just gonna leave your car here and walk, okay?"

Mike's head bobbed, but he stood easily enough, so it was progress.

She'd come to regret that thought an hour later when they crawled down the hallway to her room, each step painfully slow. "Come on, Old Man." She grunted, just barely keeping them upright as Mike stumbled. Again. "You were such a champ. Mike Lawson, drinks all night, fucks anything that walks, and still goes out and wins his games because he's that good."

Mike groaned, intent on keeping his dinner down. "I sleep more than any self-respecting man should."

She set him up against the wall, rifling through her pocket to find her key card. "I'm sure."

Standing wasn't comfortable. The wall wasn't comfortable. The floor though, now that looked comfortable, and soon Mike found himself sliding down, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. "Who does the carpeting here?" He mumbled. "I should have them over to my place."

Ginny sighed, propping the dorm open and scowling at the ground. "Funnily enough, I didn't exactly get into pitching because of my love of weight-lifting." Stooping over, she wrapped her arms around his waist, a frustrated grumble escaping past her clenched teeth as she pulled. "Help me out here, Mike. Please."

"No, no," he tugged her down, the corners of his lips lifting as she fell against him. "Just sit here for a second."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, and I was sleeping before you called."

He leaned into her, the length of his arm pressed against hers. "I'm glad you came." He admitted, some muddled part of his mind telling him that if he was going to have to regret this in the morning, he might as well go for broke. "I think I'm always glad when you're around."

She stiffened, peeking at him through the corner of her eyes. "I was the only one who lived close enough to pick you up."

"There's no one else I would have called." His thumb brushed along the back of her hand and it felt good. Right. So, he did it again. And when she didn't pull away, he traced a finger along hers, following the same path over and over until she shivered. "You happy?"

She startled, yanking her hand into her lap. "Excuse me?"

"You happy in San Diego, on the team…with me?"

"Y-yeah," she blinked, reminding herself to breath. "I love the Padres."

"Right," he sighed, "the Padres."

Her stomach tumbled, from the disappointment in his voice and the way his face fell, and soon she found herself turning towards him, folding her legs underneath her as she beamed. "You're not so bad either, Lawson, when you can actually walk for yourself."

"Not bad?" He asked, trying for indignant but just missing it. "I'm fucking great, Rookie. Not as cute as you, but I get by."

"No one's as cute as me." She narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to laugh when he returned her smile.

"Can I tell you something," he slurred, his eyes slipping shut, each time longer than the last. "I lied, about Dicaprio. You're most definitely the prettiest person I've ever played with. So pretty," he reached forward, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear, "beautiful."

Her breath caught, long enough for her to think about it. To consider leaning in and pressing her lips to his, just for a minute, just to see how it would feel. Just to see if she would like it as much as the most naïve parts of her thought she would.

And then she remembered who she was, and what she was trying to do. She needed Mike, and even though part of her wanted him in a way she didn't understand just yet, for right now, she needed him for those moments where she doubted herself. She needed Mike the _friend_ , not Mike the man with his hand resting against her cheek.

"No matter what you say, I'm not giving up my bed. The couch is all yours if and when you decide to get off the floor." She straightened, brushing away the warmth of his skin as she went over to the door. "Good night, Mike."

He managed a pitiful wave, his chin resting against his chest. "Night, Baker."

* * *

_Alright Baker, don't get mad, but what color was my tie supposed to be? I know your dress was red or blue or gray or some other color that chicks are in to, but I might've had a drink or two while you were telling me. How about this, I get the right color tie, and you promise not to be late. Again._ Beep.

Mike hadn't wanted to go to Falcone's wedding. But the team was going, and he was their captain so he had to be there. He just wasn't interested in overly religious ceremonies, or doing the chicken dance in front of people as rhythmically challenged as he was. Other than the open bar, this entire night would be a waste of time.

Or so he thought before he saw Ginny.

She came with Blip and Evelyn, annoyed with Mike's near constant taunting when it came to her near constant tardiness. And Mike was glad for it. Because he would have waited endlessly just to see her in that dress, purple silk that clung to her body and dragged along the floor. Carefully constructed curls framed her face, and God, she was always finding new ways to surprise him. Because this Ginny was just as new to him as the one on the beach and the one that had sauntered into the clubhouse and changed his world. This Ginny, the one that seemed to attract the light with each grin and peal of laughter, this Ginny cemented it for him. That the drunken nights and the complicated anger and those damned feelings, it was because he loved her.

He loved each and every Ginny, every irritated scowl and impish smile she shot his way. He loved her when she waved off his calls, and even more when she stopped, her uncertainty giving way to trust. He loved how big her heart was, how much space it seemed to have for everyone and everything in her world, ever when it left so little for herself.

And he loved –

"You got the wrong color tie," Ginny scolded, flicking at the back of his ear. "I'd say you owe me one, but after all the shit you gave me, I think you owe me at least five."

He licked his lips, drinking her in the way she deserved, from the tip of the shoes she'd been bitching about for the past three weeks, to the necklace she'd gotten from Cartier. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but five what?"

"You'll just have to wait and see." She spun, taking in the dance floor and all the swaying couples. "Although, maybe you can cash in one of those chips?" Tilting her head, she offered him a hand. "Two, if you give me more than one song."

"Baker," he said slowly, "you know I don't do that."

"I know you _won't_ , but there's been no talk of can't," she reminded him, "because there's nothing Mike Lawson can't do." They were inching closer to the band, this argument a dance he'd come to love. Their music, their moves, and the only partner he could ever want. "Come on, Mike," she begged, her bottom lip jutting out into a pout, "please?"

And that was that. He nodded, the last of his resistance disappearing underneath her fluttering eyelashes and gentle stare. "One dance."

"Two, and one of them has to be the electric slide."

"God, I hate you," he murmured, his hand sliding along her waist, her hand resting on his shoulder, their bodies close. "You know, my life was a lot simpler before you came around."

Humming, she shifted in closer, keeping them at a careful shuffle even as the music sped up. "You mean boring?"

"I mean better," his voice flowed through her like molasses, slow and smooth and deep. "No one ever asked me to dance, although I think that was more for their benefit than my own."

"You're not nearly as terrible as you think," the way she was looking at him now, it was different. Like that moment in the hallway, when he'd been so sure that the air had crackled with whatever there was between them and that she'd felt it too, before she'd walked away. "I think if you aren't careful, you'll end up liking it."

"And if I already do?"

"Then I wouldn't have had to beg you onto the dance floor."

"I'm not talking about the dancing here, Baker."

They weren't moving, she wasn't sure when they'd stopped. "Well then what are you talking about?"

His jaw tightened. "Ginny, I – "

"Can I cut in?" They both whipped around, Ginny's face flushed as she faced Trevor. "Hey Gin," Trevor took a step forward, giving Mike a tense smile before touching Ginny's hand. "You have time for an old friend."

"Um," she cleared her throat, reaching up to mess with her hair before remembering how much work Evelyn had put into each curl, "yeah," she glanced back at Mike, waiting for him to say something, anything, to ask her stay, "yeah."

"I'm going to check out the open bar," he nodded to Trevor, "find me later, Baker?"

"Sure," this time, she didn't look back, beaming up at her ex-boyfriend as he spoke.

And this was why Mike hated weddings.

He spent the rest of the wedding with a glass clenched in his fist, glowering as Ginny and Trevor danced. And ate. And laughed, they were doing a lot of goddamned laughing. You know, he'd talked to Trevor before, and he wasn't that funny. Yet, Ginny was watching him like the sun shone out of his absurdly toned ass.

And finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he went over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Rookie," he said quietly, ignoring the flash of irritation on Trevor's face, "you got a second?"

"Not right now," she squinted up at him, running a finger over the length of her eyebrow, "but I'll see you at practice tomorrow."

His nose twitched. "This can't wait."

"I'm sorry," she replied, doing nothing to hide the venom in her voice, "did the bar run out of alcohol?"

"Baker," he barked, "outside. Now."

She shoved up from the chair, trailing her hand along Trevor's shoulder as she passed. "Be right back."

Ginny marched forward, never checking to make sure he followed, before whirling around and glaring up at him.

"What?"

Mike rocked back, recoiling from her anger. "What?"

"What?" She hissed, closing the space between us. "You sort of interrupted something."

"You and Trevor?" Mike snorted. "That's something all of a sudden?"

She rolled her eyes, smacking away the hair that had spent the better part of the evening worming its way onto her face. "Actually, yeah. He's wants to get back together, and I've been thinking about it."

"Because that worked out so well the last time."

"Like you're one to talk? Which one of your _successful_ relationships should we analyze?"

"You know what, have fun with Trevor. Looking forward to the next round of topless pics."

With the alcohol and anger fueling him, he went to leave. And he would've, he really would've, if not for the soft hand that landed on his bicep. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be with Trevor?" She asked. "Because the way I see it, he's smart, we get along, even though he's a ball player, he'd get it, what I'm doing."

"He's a great guy."

"Mike," she ground out, "is there a reason I shouldn't be with Trevor?"

"Ginny," he countered, her name like silk on his tongue, "you tell me."

The ball was in her court, she would have to make the first throw. And she did, ghosting her thumb along his cheek, her nose brushing against his, her mouth hovering just over his. And when he finally couldn't take it anymore, her being this close and yet not close enough, she said, "give me a reason."

And he did. He grabbed at her hips, his fingers flexing around the purple silk and those curves of her that doubled as weapons hell-bent on his own personal torment. And he pressed his lips to hers, hungry for every little bit of herself she was willing to give and desperate to offer up something in the vain hope of deserving her.

She tilted her head, soaking in the prick of his beard against her skin, the scrape of his teeth against her bottom lip, the hand that was very sneakily snaking over her ass. And now squeezing her ass, with the skill of a man who very regularly used his hands. Belatedly, she wondered how being a catcher translated so nicely to ass squeezing, and if kissing him was this good, then what else had she been missing all this time?

"Baker, my body's a few rough nights from breaking down," he murmured into her mouth, "I'm not exactly what you'd call a spring chicken."

"I'm a fall girl," she grabbed at the lapel of his jacket, "I think I'll survive."

"What about Trevor?" Ginny stilled, dropping back onto her heels. "I could see the appeal," he admitted reluctantly, ramming his hands into his pockets. "Young, talented, easy on the eyes.

Ginny's thoughtful expression morphed into one of bemusement. "I'm sorry, it sounds like you'd rather date Trevor." She toyed with his tie, delight glimmering in her eyes as she tugged him forward. "Which will be very difficult, what with his impending nuptials."

"Excuse me?"

"The reason he wanted to dance," she purred, "is so that he could let me know he was getting married. After everything we've been through, he thought I should find out from him. I just said that thing about us getting back together to see how'd you react."

"Because you knew I'd be a gigantic fucking idiot?"

"Like always," she giggled. "So, the way I see it, we head back to my apartment, pick up where we left off, and then decide where to go from there." He nodded, his thoughts already buried underneath her comforter with Ginny's body molded to his. "Or," she continued, rolling her eyes as he startled, torn from his dazed daydreaming by her voice, "we can go to your place and do the whole talking thing tomorrow, because we're not doing this anymore."

"You lost me after all that bedroom talk," he replied, absently winding one of her curls around his finger. "What are we not doing?"

"Pretending like you aren't absolutely obsessed with me?"

He sidled into the last bit of space between them. "That's awfully cocky of you, Baker."

"And you're surprised?"

Huffing out a chuckle, he dropped one last kiss onto her mouth, the last of his restraint slipping when she slid her tongue between his lips. "Grab your stuff, say your goodbyes, and meet me at the door in fifteen."

"You're on," she growled, making him jump as her hand smacked down on his ass. He still hadn't moved when she glanced back at him, her eyelashes batting. "You coming, Old Man?"

"I'm already there, Baker."

* * *

 

_Hey Cap, you've only been gone a few hours and I'm already going insane. And before you start yelling, I know I can't be there for every game, but it feels harder watching you play from home. Then again, maybe it's better you're gone. Eric picked up a football today, and you should have seen the way my grown ass nearly started crying. Anyway, the baby's down for the night, and God save me, I think I might miss you. Call me when you land._

_I love..._

"Who you talking to?"

Beep.

Dropping his phone to his side, he spun, his head ducking as the beginnings of a grin curled on his lips. Ginny wiggled her phone at him, leaning back against the door frame. "Important call?"

"Nothing I can't put off till later," Mike ambled over to her, his palm tracing along the curve of her hip, "it was just my wife."

She inhaled, her fingers interlacing behind his back and her chin resting against his chest. "She sounds hot."

"She's sort of a brat," her nose wrinkled as she snorted, "you know anything about that?"

"I can imagine," she replied with a sniff, "what with my husband being a colossal idiot with a facial hair fetish."

She leaned up onto her toes, brushing a quick kiss along his chin. And then, just like the rest of their relationship, it became a battle of wills, his lips ghosting against the space between her eyebrows, her mouth caressing the tip of his nose. Chasing touches that lingered just a little bit more each time. And when he finally couldn't stand it, he fit his mouth to hers, waiting for the moment where she softened, melting into him with a small sigh.

"You were supposed to be in Chicago."

"I was literally boarding the plane, but I just…I wanted to be here. The rest of the team doesn't get there for another two days, so I already scheduled another flight for the day after tomorrow."

"It'll be cutting it close," he hadn't realized when they began to move, inching back step by step until her legs collided with the dining room table.

"Would you rather I left?" He hoisted her up, smirking down at her outfit, his white button down, which she'd claimed as her own after their fifth date, and nothing else.

"Absolutely not."

_**...** _

Ginny would be lying if she said she'd expected the trajectory her life had taken. From the moment she picked up that ball in the yard with her father, she'd only ever had one goal in mind. The majors, an all-star, one of the names in baseball that no one would ever forget.

But in all that time, she'd never considered what came after. And she most definitely never entertained the possibility of her and Mike Lawson. _The_ Mike Lawson. The man who had stood on her wall, mitt at the ready and bat sitting at his side like a king with a scepter. The man who'd been there in those quiet moments away from her father when she'd considered quitting, in becoming a normal girl with normal friends and a normal life. And it was as she looked at him, living the dream that she just barely wrapped her head around, that she persevered.

No, she'd never figured that Mike Lawson would play a main role in her life. And then she was called up to the Padres.

Yet, even when Mike quickly became one of her closest friends and the only person she could talk to, even when she found herself staring up at the ceiling with his smirk on her brain, even when she fought against the dull ache in her stomach when he wasn't around, she still set him firmly in the platonic pile.

And it wasn't until their third date, where he let out a low whistle at the sight of her in the black dress she borrowed from Evelyn and a pair of heels that set her feet on fire, that it became real. She was doing this, she was making this irreparable change to the most important relationship in her life. And with that thought, she was officially freaking out.

She sat quietly in the passenger side of his car, fiddling with his radio and too anxious to settle. "Jesus, Baker," he peeked over at her, his thumbs drumming along the wheel. "Pick a song, any song, it doesn't matter."

"Oh, yeah," she gave him a tight smile, "sorry."

His eyebrows knitted together as he pulled up to a red light, turning to face her. "You nervous?"

She thought back to the first kiss, at how she'd tugged him into her hotel, nothing but his lips and the slide of his hands along her skin coursing through her mind. And how minutes after they'd landed on her bed, Amelia had called. A press conference she'd forgotten. And how since then, he hadn't touched her, let alone tried to get anywhere near her ridiculously comfortable mattress. Even when she'd invited him to after dinner the night before, just to watch him stumble around for an excuse.

"What's there to be nervous about?" She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and training her eyes to the horizon. "Just getting food, right?"

"Sure," he was giving her a strange look, his attention bouncing between the road and her artificial calm. She wouldn't show how her stomach dipped, wouldn't be giving him a single one of her thoughts. Because maybe she'd read this all wrong, that that kiss at the wedding had just been his jealousy and the champagne rushing to both their heads. Even if he pressed his hand to the small of his back, or grinned at her from over their salads. This was just him being Mike, completing his part of the pair they'd become over the last yeah.

"I had a good time," she said after dinner, reciting the lines she knew would be expected of her as he walked her to her room, the top button of his shirt popped and his tie hanging loose. "Thanks," she let herself into her room, letting the door swing shut behind her. And only when she was alone would she really let the disappointment sink in.

So obviously she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on her shoulder, stopping her as she went to unzip her dress. "Really?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow up. "Because I'm calling bullshit on that one, Rookie."

"What?" She asked, trying not to let her frustration show. "We goofed around and it was fun, no different than any other day. I wouldn't have been surprised if we ended the night at Johnny's with the rest of the team like always."

"And that's what you want?" She whipped around, watching as he rolled his shirt sleeves up.

"I," she rubbed a hand along her forehead, "I just thought this would be something different, but it's not, and that's okay."

He nodded, listening intently as he undid each of his buttons. "And what exactly did you think this would be?"

"Nothing, " she picked at a thread coming from her dress, missing the moment Mike kicked off his shoes, striding towards her like a man on a mission. "Something more, I guess."

"And this more," he drawled, finally pulling her attention away from the floor, "it look something like this?" Before she could answer, he jerked her forward, feeling the tension drain from her body as her hands settled on his hips. "I might have been taking it slow," he mumbled, letting her push his shirt from his arms, "but damn it, Rookie, I was trying to be a gentleman."

She gasped as he turned her, each breath coming out sharp. His hands were everywhere, grazing over her chest, messing with hair, tugging down her zipper. "You've got the worst timing," he bit the shell of her ear, pulling a low moan from her throat. "If I'd wanted a gentleman, I wouldn't have had you anywhere near me."

"You make jokes," he hummed, sliding the dress from her shoulders and watching as it puddled around her feet, "but you don't know the half of it." And then she was off the ground, draped over his shoulder as he carried over his shoulder, her laugher spilling down his back.

She was still laughing as her world tilted again, her back slamming down on the mattress and Mike wedging himself between her legs. "I'm going to do dirty," he purred, grinning as she inched back closer to the headboard, "dirty," he moved forward, reaching behind her and unclipping her bra in one fluid motion, "things to you."

Ginny swallowed roughly, feeling exposed and flushed and tingly all over. And he'd barely even touched her yet. "Okay."

"Uh-uh," he yanked his belt from around his waist, letting it drop to the floor before kicking off his pants, "I'm not finished yet. Because after I'm done with those dirty, dirty, things," he slipped a finger past the hem of her underwear, and she was finding it hard to breath, "I'm going to fuck you until we both can't see straight. Any questions, Baker?"

She shook her head, clamping down on her lip before her first gasp could ring out. And soon when that wasn't enough, she bit down on his shoulder, clinging to him as he thrust up into her, fulfilling his promise and then some by the time they lay there the next morning, spent and sore and delirious.

From there, things progressed very quickly. Mike or Ginny suddenly became Mike and Ginny, the two of them always within range of the other, the pitcher and her catcher. They kept it quiet enough that the media never quite caught on, rumors and speculation never crossing over into fact, but it was impossible to hide it from their teammates. It was there when they played, operating at some new level that no one else seemed to understand. And then in the clubhouse when Mike would walk up behind Ginny, their hands intertwined as they discussed each pitch. Besides, it was enough to get them to the World Series two seasons later, so no one complained.

Ginny flicked at the bill of her cap, her focus like a laser as she waited for Mike's decision.

"Last pitch of the game and it looks like it's all coming down to Ginny Baker's ability to strike a player out," she forced the announcers to fade, forced her mind to quiet until there was nothing but the ball and Mike. "She'll have to break away from that screwball to stand a chance of a strike, and I'm just not sure she has it in her."

Mike's eyes narrowed, his arm dangling as he met her fiery gaze with a determined one of his own. Those announcers must've not known his girl, because even with the sweat painting her skin and the exhaustion weighing down her shoulders, she smiled. And just like that, he knew exactly what to do.

"And, here's the pitch…It's a strike!" Ginny straightened, wishing she could get it back, the flash of Mike's four fingers, the speed of the ball as it left her hand, the swish of the bat slapping against the air.

And the sound of Mike's joyous cry as the ball hit his mitt.

"And there you have it folks," Ginny looked up, at the screaming crowds and then at Blip, his fist in the air and his grin painfully wide, "the San Diego Padres are the new World Series Champions!"

It slammed into her, the weight of what she'd just done. She had won. She had _won._ And even as her gaze darted to the crowd, to the seat that would have belonged to her father, front row, right smack dab in the center, she didn't feel sad. Because her feet were already carrying her away from the mound and over to home plate, to the one person she wanted to share this with. And he was waiting for her, his arms spread wide and his helmet on the ground.

"God," he screamed, his arms wrapping around her waist as she collided into him, "you were incredible. You _are_ incredible," she pulled back, just long enough to press her hand to his cheek, to feel the warmth radiating from him. "I love you, Baker." And it was there, covered in sand and sweat and victory, that the world found out about Ginny Baker and Mike Lawson. Because no force in the world could have stopped her from kissing him, long and tender and full of every emotion she could feel swelling up inside of her.

"I love you, too."

Mike would always consider that game one of his greatest. It was the one he took out late at night when there was nothing to keep him company but his thoughts and the moonlight streaming in past his curtains. And there were a lot more nights like that, now that he was out of the game. It had been time a long time ago, and he realized now why he had stayed in so long, despite the agony and the stress and the losses. He'd been waiting for his entire fucking life to change, had been waiting for the hurricane that was Ginny Baker. And the world series ring didn't hurt either. It was time for him to move on with his life, and he considered himself a lucky bastard to get to do it with Ginny by his side.

She had begged him to stay, even though she knew it was selfish, even though she could see how each practice took a little more out of him. She just couldn't wrap her head around a team without her catcher. Oscar offering Blip the captainship had helped soften the blow, just a little bit, but she'd only finally stopped sulking once she moved into his place.

She didn't really let go of the idea of Mike coming out of retirement until three years later though, when he knelt on his shitty knee and slid a diamond ring onto her callused finger.

They didn't get married, not right away. She wanted to wait until off-season, and Evelyn was having the time of her life planning a wedding that Mike was almost certain he couldn't afford. It would have been in June, _try not to burn, Old Man_ , she kept repeating, only stopping after her third morning of waking up to vomit.

And that's how their June wedding became a January delivery.

"The game," Ginny wheezed, her eyes screwed shut as another contraction rocked through her body. "How's it going?"

Mike brushed the hair back from her forehead, his gaze on the television. "We're up by three, two on the bases and one at bat."

"How's Tommy doing?" Her grip on his hand tightened, and she let loose a string of curses he hadn't been aware she even knew. "He said his shoulder was bothering him before and…oh…oh…fuck you, Mike!"

Evelyn breezed into the room, ice chips in one hand and the remote in the other. She swallowed back a giggle at the stricken look on Mike's face, reaching forward to pat him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," she said, "I'm still with Blip and I was pushing out two."

Ginny sagged forward, resting her forehead against Mike's shoulder and sucking in a breath. "Mike," she panted, sounding just as impatient as if it were any other day, "the _game_."

"Don't you think that can wait until after you've shoved a human being out of you?" Evelyn asked sweetly, earning two equally infuriated glares. "Or not…"

The Padres beat the Royals eight to six, and Ginny gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. All in all, a pretty good day.

The second baby was easier, or at least it felt that way. By then, she knew what to say to the press when they asked how she could be a mother and a ball player, her patience running thin each time until she finally let them know just how annoying their sexist bullshit was. And, even though she'd just become captain, they placed her on the disabled list, giving her as much time as she needed before and after the baby came. It was more than she'd expected, and with Mike at home with the kids, more than she could have possibly asked for.

_**...** _

"So," Mike leaned into Ginny, kissing that spot on her neck that still drove her wild ten years later, "I was thinking Vegas."

"Vegas," she hummed, tilting her chin up to give him more access, "and why would you ever be thinking of Vegas?"

"Well, if we were to pack the kids up, invite Evelyn, Blip and the boys, we could finally do this thing," he traced his thumb over her collarbone, fiddling with the chain that held her engagement ring.

"You want to get married in Vegas?"

"You have any better ideas? It gets confusing when I try to bring girls home. Am I married, am I not married, I'm a man in limbo here, Baker."

She grinned, her legs swinging as she considered his offer. "You won't be able to call me that once we're actually married."

"Painful as that might be, I think I'll live." His hands trailed down her torso, spreading her shirt apart as they went. "You know I'm pretty flexible when it comes to names, or maybe you actually _miss_ Rookie?"

"Nope, sorry, I don't." Leaning back, she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Evelyn will have to murder you after she finds out about this."

"I have great insurance," he shrugged, gliding his nose down the valley between her breasts. "You'll be set for life."

She giggled and it was still his favorite sound. God, it wasn't fair how much he loved this woman. He hadn't stood a chance, not from the second she walked up to him on the diamond talking about his rookie card. "Well," she trailed a line of kisses from his neck to his lips, "I'm sold. So how about a little preview for the honeymoon?"

"I like the way you think, Cap." He dropped his sweatpants. "Just, you have to be quiet. Eric just fell asleep and if he even hears your voice, he'll – "

"Mommy?" They both stopped, not daring to breath too deeply as they waited to see if it was a false alarm.

"Maybe it's just a dream," Ginny muttered through her teeth, ears straining for any other sounds. And even as her daughter began to cry, the tiny wails of an uncomfortable one-year old, she felt her lips tug up into a smile. "Come on," scooting off the table, she shoved past him and onto the ground, snatching up his sweats before he could protest and slipping them on. "Do something about your little problem before you get Kayla and I'll go make sure Eric doesn't leave his room before he runs into Daddy and his tented boxers. No amount of therapy will ever fix that."

She buttoned her shirt on the way, chuckling as Mike let out a frustrated groan.

"You're killing me, Baker," he cried, picturing Al in a cocktail dress before going off to change what would be his third dirty diaper of the night. Instead of having sex with his hot wife. He was living a charmed life.

Ginny crept into her son's room, smiling as Eric leapt up from his bed and ran over to her. "Mommy," he cried, "I thought it was you but you were flying today."

She bent down, taking her five year old in her arms and burying her face in his whisper soft curls, one of the only things he'd gotten from her. Other than his curious eyes, caramel skin, and sweet laugh, he was all Mike, down to the sarcastic tilt of his lip and love for one Ginny Baker.

"Flying can wait, I wanted to be here with you, little man," he beamed up at her, already understanding what that meant, despite being so little. His mommy loved baseball, and she loved him. And if she was choosing him over baseball, it meant she loved him more. "I heard you played with a football today."

Eric nodded, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. "Yeah, I liked it more than a baseball, but then daddy got really sad."

"Well, you know daddy can be silly sometimes," she stood, bringing him along with her, and his delighted squeals pooled in her stomach like honey. "How about you tell me all about it, and hey," she set him down on his bed, briefly glancing up at all the baseball memorabilia scattered along the wall. They would have to redecorate, and a small part of her was excited for the tantrum her soon-to-be official husband would throw. "You ever want to tell me about your day, or about how daddy's being silly again, you just call me, okay?"

"Call you," he repeated, tasting the words in his mouth. "Like for when I'm in trouble?"

"Sure," she sat beside him, and he snuggled in close, "but this time just if you want to hear my voice. Daddy always has the number, so you can reach me at any time."

"And you'll always pick up?" She looked down at him, at the bright hazel eyes she'd had her entire life and every other part that was all Mike, the best of them both in this perfect combination.

"I'll try," she promised, dropping a kiss onto his forehead. "And if I don't, you can leave a message. I'll always listen, and I'll always come running."

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, I know the last part kind of departed from like how the rest of the fic, but Ginny and Mike? Dating? World Series? Babies? I'm only human and I couldn't resist. Anyway, hope you liked it!


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